


The Morality of Conquest

by sailorgreywolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf
Summary: The Netherlands finally reaches his limit listening to Spain’s accounts of the New World. He decides to confront him no matter the consequences.
Kudos: 4





	The Morality of Conquest

The Netherlands was aware that he was about to do something regrettable which would definitely get him consequences. He had been thinking about it for days.

If his sister was at court, she would tell him to never act on the thoughts that were plaguing him. She had to act as his restraint at times that he found Spain absolutely repugnant.

But she was in Brussels and he was in Madrid alone. As he sat in court listening to Spain boast about his new found wealth to any foreign delegate he could find.

He boasted like a poor man who had suddenly come into money. It seemed like he thought that his plunder made him a rich man with dignity, even though it did nothing more than make him seem like a brigand. A pious man should know the way that wealth corrupted the soul.

Even so, the Netherlands had held his tongue. He found the whole thing to be deeply distasteful, but picking a fight with Spain was a serious discussion. He had done nothing but sit there seething the night before when he had heard Spain offering to show an Austrian noble “the treasures of Montezuma.”

There were still marks on his palm from where he had clenched his fists hard enough to drive his nails into his own skin. He looked at them as he laid awake, and tried to make sense of his own rage.

It was infuriating to hear a man boast and brag about the gold he had gained by spilling rivers of blood. Spain had left a little boy an orphan, and he was talking as though it had been a marvelous adventure.

The Netherlands could clearly see little Mexica’s face in his mind’s eye, and it made him angrier. That boy was an innocent, and Spain had ripped his family from him cruelly. The only real kindness was that he was in Madrid far away from the continuing excesses and cruelties of the men that Spain let run rampant. That would be too much for a child as young and sweet for him to endure.

The Netherlands stared at the carved woodwork on the ceiling and tried to decide what to do. What he wanted most was to give Spain a piece of his mind. He wanted to tell him that no godly man should revel in such violence or greed. It was clear that Spain had fallen for the lure of gold and power, and was willing to bend every commandment to have it. He didn’t even seem bothered by the life he had taken.

The Netherlands tried to summon to mind his sister’s voice to mind to tell him to be cautious. She would remind him that no matter how much he disliked Spain, he was still their lord. It was a short step from criticism to rebellion, especially in Spain’s eyes.

But, as he watched the marks on his palms heal, he tried to decide if he would compromise his own soul by staying silent and complicit. It felt like he had to voice this anger for the sake of himself and his own morality.

He let out a sigh, and turned over onto his side. It was easy to say that he shouldn’t be rash and should think of the consequences, but it didn’t square with his own conscious. He decided that he would sleep on it and decide in the morning.

By the time he sat down for breakfast the Netherlands was no closer to a decision, but he had thought about the question through the whole restless night. Confronting Spain about his boasting was no easy thing, but it felt so wrong to bite his tongue and let it fester.

He sat at the table and stared moodily at the food. He was not the least bit hungry, though he had not eaten since the night before.

As he sat thinking, he heard a sweet voice say in slightly clumsy Spanish, “Good morning, Mr. Holland.”

He looked up to see that Mexica, rechristened New Spain, was sitting at the table next to him. He gave the Netherlands a broad smile, like he was truly happy to see him.

The Netherlands noticed that there was a gap in his teeth where one had fallen out. He looked like any other little boy, and a joyful one at that. If he did not know the bloody circumstances that brought Mexica to Spain, the Netherlands would think that he was a carefree little boy like any other. But he had read the report from de las Casas, and the images of carnage would not leave his mind.

If the child remembered anything of the horrors that Spain had unleashed on his people, then he hid it well. For his sake, the Netherlands hoped that Mexica had forgotten.

He replied, “Good morning, Alejandro.”

The little boy was struggling to peel an orange with his small hands, and as the Netherlands watched he bit his lip and looked very determined. He extended his hand to the boy and said, “Do you want me to help you with that?”

Mexica nodded and eagerly handed over the orange. The Netherlands was able to make short work of the peel with the help of a small knife. As he was working, he said, “What are you going to do today?”

For the briefest moment he felt like he might actually like children as Mexica smiled at him like he was doing something miraculous by peeling an orange. Mexica started to respond, “I was thinking-“

Spain's voice cut in harshly, “He will be busy with bible study and reviewing his Spanish. He has much to learn to learn about civilization, and I will not have him distracted by frivolity.”

Spain sat at the head of the table. The Netherlands watched as the smile disappeared from the boy’s face. The happiness was extinguished as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. He took the peeled orange back in silence.

The anger that the Netherlands was repressing flared to the surface again. Spain had left this child an orphan and all but kidnapped him from his home, and still felt like he had any ground to lecture anyone on what it meant to be a civilized man.

He curled both of his hands into fists, and grit his teeth. His decision was made, though he could not do it in front of little Mexica. He said, his jaw still tense, “Alejandro, please leave. I have something I have to say to Spain.”

The little boy looked confused, but did as he was told. He first looked at Spain and then left.

Then Spain turned to the Netherlands with a look that would have been a warning to a cautious man. He said, “What could you possibly want to say to me?”

His tone also should have been a warning, but the Netherlands was past caring. He had already weighed all the consequences and come to this conclusion anyway.

He said, as calmly as he could muster, “You should have some shame when you talk about the murder you committed.”

Spain’s green eyes flashed a dangerous rage, but he sounded carefully calm as he said, “And what murder is that?”

The Netherlands knew he had committed and there was no way to back out. He met Spain's eyes unflinchingly and said, “Alejandro’s mother. The Aztec empire. You killed her in cold blood, and you have the gall to boast about it.” Spain scoffed, but there was no mirth in his face, “You’re faulting me for killing an enemy in battle. You’ll have to condemn the whole continent.”

The Netherlands shook his head. He had heard Spain’s version, but it made no sense with everything else he had read about the wretched state of the natives. He countered, “A woman who was deathly ill and trying to protect her son. You killed her to have her gold.”

He could see from the way a vein started pounding in Spain’s forehead that he had touched a sensitive nerve. He surreptitiously took the knife that he had used to peel the orange and tucked it under the napkin in his lap. He didn’t think that Spain would attack him, but he couldn’t reckon with a brute.

Spain said, looking like it was taking every inch of his self control not to yell, “I gave her the chance to accept the true faith, and she refused. I did what I had to.”

The Netherlands stood and said, his own voice rising, “Are you God? Do you decide who is worthy of salvation?” He surreptitiously tucked the knife up his sleeve to have a little bit of insurance if Spain lost control of his temper.

He shook his head as he watched Spain’s face go pale with rage, and said, “No, you’re just a man like any of us.” Spain said shortly, “You will not speak blasphemy in my presence.”

The Netherlands could not care less about the warning. This was not the moment to air his grievances with the church, though he certainly did not accept their definition of heresy either.

Spain did not give him enough time to respond, because he also stood up and said, “I was given that land by the Pope, and I have his blessing to convert the people. He speaks for God.”

The other man laughed, but it was a scornful laugh, “Rodrigo Borgia gave you the right to do as you pleased. A less holy man never sat on Saint Peter’s throne. I’m sure you paid him well for the privilege.”

He had thought it for years, but finally saying the words to Spain’s face felt more cathartic than he had imagined. Spain looked momentarily speechless, though the rage would undoubtedly return.

The Netherlands stepped closer, perfectly aware that he had nearly a foot of height on the Spaniard. If this was going to be a fight, he wanted to be intimidating. He said, “I do not care that a corrupt Spanish Pope granted you the right to be a brigand. You should not boast about your blood soaked gold.”

Spain recovered from his initial shock and snarled back, “Everything that I have done I have done for the church. You will not insult my faith.”

The Netherlands was tired of Spain pretending to be a pious man. He was happy enough to sin and confess later. He loved the church as long as the church allowed his excesses. The Netherlands said, “And how much of your newfound wealth have you given to the church?”

He knew the answer already. Once Spain had secured his wealth he was not going to be parted with it. Like any poor man, he was clinging to money.

Spain stepped forward, clearly trying to assert his position as an empire. He said, “I do not have to justify my patronage of the church to you. If I hear another word of heresy from your lips, then the Inquisition will hear about it.”

That threat was enough to stop the Netherlands from saying anything else. There were consequences that he was willing to say, but the horrors of the Inquisition were a step too far.

He held his tongue, and he was certain that Spain saw it on his face. Spain said, capitalizing on the silence, “There are consequences for your words. You will leave court today, and you will not repeat anything that you just said.”

Spain looked far too smug in his victory and the Netherlands was not going to allow it. He replied, “Very well. I do not want to be here to see you parading your spoils anyway.”

As he turned to walk away, Spain said, “Watch your back, Johann. One more misstep and I will bring my entire army down on you.”


End file.
